


Past the Road We Came From

by kesdax



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing they always forget? Relationships. No matter who they become or where they hide, there will always be the people they meet, the people they love, the people they wrong. All of whom can be leveraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post 4x11, Martine's POV. Will be Root/Shaw eventually.

"Why didn't you kill her?"

It was a loaded question and one Martine wasn't sure she could answer honestly.

"She's more valuable to us alive than dead," Martine said eventually.

Jeremy Lambert raised an eyebrow. "Those weren't our orders."

Martine looked at him sharply. He really was that naive it would seem. "Sometimes orders have to be contradicted," she said, but Jeremy didn't look like he believed her. He wasn't a soldier, however. Just the messenger boy. She wasn’t a soldier either, but she knew how to follow orders just as well as she knew how to break them when necessary.

"Do they know?" he asked. "That she's still alive?"

"Doubtful," said Martine, finally turning away from the unconscious body of Sameen Shaw. The blood loss was minimal, the shots themselves flesh wounds. She would survive. "But then again," Martine continued, "the Machine is always watching."

~#~

Cold winter air snapped at Martine as she as she got out of the car. She did not appreciate the outdoors, but she understood the reasoning behind the use of this place. White Pine Camp, just shy of a five hour drive from Manhattan, had been a struggling historical site until Samaritan had bought over the camp and converted it for its own purposes. Martine didn’t bother brushing herself up on the details, but she knew it used to be a former presidential summer house turned museum. The camp was in the middle of nowhere, far away from technology and civilisation bar what Samaritan's operatives had brought with them. Security cameras had been mounted all over the place, un-networked so the Machine would not be able to find them here. As for Finch and co... an old abandoned museum was the last place they would ever look for Sameen Shaw.

Not all of the buildings had been converted for their use yet; but a few had been turned into barracks and a large dining facility that was big enough to feed a small army had been the priority. Recently refurbished was the medical hut. A large cabin that had been fitted with state of the art medical equipment. It was here where they had treated Shaw. As per Martine's instructions, they had kept her unconscious and isolated since bringing her here until a decent security perimeter could be established.

Feet crunching in the light layer of snow on the ground, Martine made her way over to the medical hut. She had been summoned here, much to her annoyance, at an early hour - too early, Martine grumbled to herself - and it was only just past eight o’clock in the morning. Greer liked to get in an early start. Martine, however, could not see what the rush was considering Shaw hadn’t even woken up yet.

Blessedly, the medical hut was warm inside and Martine felt it safe enough to shed her gloves and scarf. It was going to be another cold winter in New York and Martine half hoped that Samaritan and Greer would send her somewhere warm for her next mission.

“You’re late,” said a pompous voice behind her. Martine rolled her eyes and barely spared Jeremy Lambert a glance as she shoved the gloves and scarf into her coat pocket.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find this place?” said Martine. She handed him her coat with a smirk. Just like the good English gentleman that he was, he took it and hung it up neatly on a coat hook by the door without a word, just a creased frown on his face.

“Haven’t you ever heard of something called GPS?” he asked. “You know how Mr Greer doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Then lead the way,” said Martine impatiently. She rarely had time for Jeremy’s disapproval and often wondered if it was a British thing. He and Greer seemed to have the same trait, like a large stick up the ass that neither of them could get out.

Jeremy led her through a large room with six hospital beds and other pieces of medical equipment, past a cupboard filled with supplies of bandages and gauze and plenty of drugs with enough variety to treat almost anything from the flu to the nastiest of fungal infections. Samaritan had spared no expense, it would seem. They paused at a door, metal and heavy looking with a keypad at the side and a small square pad just big enough for a thumb print.

“We’ve spared no security,” said Jeremy, punching in a four digit code and pressing his thumb down on the pad. The light on the panel flashed green and Martine could hear the click of the lock as the door opened. “Down here.”

Martine followed him down a flight of stairs to the basement level. There were no windows down here, just bright fluorescents on the ceiling every couple of metres or so. Jeremy led her down a long corridor, about a two minute walk going at a brisk pace before they reached another door, similar to the one above. Martine watched as Jeremy typed in a different four digit code and pressed his thumb to the scanner.

“This isn’t part of the camp,” she said. Although she hadn’t taken much interest in its history, she had taken the time to memorise the camp’s blueprints. And this wasn’t on it.

Jeremy smirked at her. “On the contrary,” he said. “Welcome to the president’s secure bunker.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go through ahead of him. Martine hesitated for the slightest of seconds, not liking having her back to _anyone_ and had to remind herself that Jeremy was on her side (or, rather, they were both on Samaritan’s side) before she stepped through and he followed.

Inside, Martine was met with a large room. Against one wall was a row of desks each with their own computer depicting the various images of each of the security cameras placed throughout the camp. On one monitor, the cameras were focussed on a small room barely large enough for the camp bed and toilet facility it contained. On the bed lay Sameen Shaw, handcuffed at the wrist and staring defiantly at the camera.

“So she’s awake then,” said Martine. Staring at the monitor, she didn’t notice someone walking up behind her.

“Has been for the last six hours,” said John Greer. Martine tore her eyes away from the screen to glance at him. He was dressed as impeccably as ever in a suit and tie, hair neat, but the lines around his eyes looked tired. “She hasn’t moved once apart from a poor attempt at removing the handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs won’t hold someone like her for long,” Martine warned.

“If she does get out of them,” Jeremy said, “she’ll have three feet of concrete to get through. She’s not going anywhere.” There was that naivety Martine had come to loath. She ignored him and turned to face Greer.

“You want me to do the interrogation?” she said. Martine couldn’t think of any other reason why she would be here.

“No,” said Greer. “I want you to watch. Find out what makes her tick. Her weaknesses.” That was easier said than done, Martine thought. Someone with Sameen Shaw’s level of training wasn’t going to easily give anything away. She had read Shaw’s file, long before she had begun her chase, it was more terrifying than impressive. Self-diagnosed Axis 2 personality disorder. Former doctor. Former marine. Former ISA agent. Sameen Shaw was focused and unpredictable. She was dangerous and Martine doubted even Samaritan could predict her next movements. “I think we'll let Jeremy have a run at her first,” Greer continued.

Beside her, Martine felt Jeremy stiffen. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting this turn of events either and he glanced at Greer warily for a moment before he realised that this wasn’t, in fact, some strange new sense of humour being suddenly displayed by the old man.

“Have you ever done an interrogation before?” Martine asked him as he cleared his throat nervously.

“Not exactly,” he said. Martine wasn’t filled with confidence at that and she watched him sceptically as he walked down a short corridor where at the end there was yet another security door, same as the other two: four digit access code and thumb print. Martine wondered vaguely if Greer was going to give her access later or if he was going to restrict it as much as possible. It was what she would do, in his place.

When Jeremy unlocked the door, Martine spotted the first signs of movement on the security monitors. It was minute, but Martine could tell Shaw was readying herself for a fight. Martine let out a warning far too late. Shaw was already on her feet, hand secure around Jeremy’s throat and squeezing before he had even made it into the room. His face was going purple by the time Martine made it to the cell and she jammed the lethal end of a taser into Shaw’s side, pressing down tight on the trigger.

Body juddering, Shaw fell backwards onto the cot, unable to control the erratic muscle spasms. Martine stepped over to her, securing her by the handcuffs once again. Behind her, she could hear Jeremy wheezing and spluttering. “I think we’re going to need better restraints,” she said to him and he glared at her, unimpressed by her flippancy.

~#~

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” said Greer.

This time, Shaw was still recovering from the effects of a sedative, her wrist secured with an additional zip-tie as well as the handcuffs.

“Perhaps I should-” Martine began.

“No,” said Greer, his voice broking no argument. “Let’s allow Jeremy another go at it.” Martine thought this was a mistake, but didn’t say anything otherwise. The purpling bruise on Jeremy’s throat was enough of a reminder, but Greer didn’t seem to pay it any attention.

It had been twenty-four hours since their last attempt; enough time for Shaw to stew and for Jeremy’s voice to recover. It now no longer sounded hoarse and painful to talk. Still, Martine doubted his second attempt would go any better even if he did make it through the door intact this time. He was out of his depth, but no one, especially him, was about to say it out loud.

He opened the door with more caution this time, but he needn’t have bothered. Shaw was still recovering from the effects of the sedative they had pushed into her veins last night and lay still and sluggish on the bed. Still, Martine watched her carefully. She wouldn’t put it past Shaw to fake it and try for another escape.

Jeremy closed the door behind him and smiled down at Shaw as she stared coldly at him. “Ms. Shaw,” he said. “Please, do try to refrain from strangling me this time.”

Unsurprisingly, Shaw said nothing.

“I don’t think you need me to explain the current situation to you,” Jeremy continued, undeterred. “You’re in quite a pickle.” Martine wanted to snort at the phrase, but didn’t dare with Greer standing next to her. Shaw seemed to have the same level of disdain for Jeremy’s choice of vocabulary as Martine did and she glowered up at him, still saying nothing. “You’re friends think you are dead,” said Jeremy, “so you can forget about someone coming to look for you. No one knows you are here, not even the Machine.”

“And what?” said Shaw with contempt. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”

Jeremy smirked. “I doubt there is very much that can frighten you. I just wanted you to be fully aware of your… predicament.”

“How about you just get to the point and tell me what it is you want,” said Shaw, direct and to the point, cutting through all the crap.

“Careful,” Martine warned and wanted to roll her eyes at the way Jeremy stiffened when he heard her voice through his earpiece. She didn’t doubt, not even for a second that Shaw had noticed it too. “She’ll be interrogating you in a minute if you're not careful.”

“What we want, Ms. Shaw,” said Jeremy slowly, “is whatever it is that Samaritan desires.”

“And that is?” Shaw asked.

“Information,” said Jeremy.

Shaw exhaled a breath of air that sounded like something somewhere between irritation and amusement. “So... what? This the part where you torture me?”

Jeremy smiled. “Nothing quite so barbaric. You’re here as our guest and you will be treated as such,” he promised. Shaw looked at him doubtfully. “We’re not the evil masterminds that you think we are,” Jeremy continued.

“You won’t mind if I don’t take your word for that,” Shaw said, leaning back slightly. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over and Martine had very little faith in Jeremy being able to get anything more out of her.

“That will do for now, Mr Lambert,” said Greer, seemingly having the same line of thought.

On the monitor, Martine watched as Jeremy slipped out of the room without a word. Even with him gone, Shaw still didn’t relax; her entire body tense as she lay there waiting for something. Martine didn’t know if it was just the uncomfortable awareness of a camera watching her every movement or if she was always this on edge.

“Well,” said Greer, now that Jeremy was back beside them. “What did we learn from that?”

“Torture isn’t an option,” said Martine, eyes still on Shaw.

Jeremy snorted. “Going soft?”

Martine turned to glare at him. “High pain threshold. Nothing to lose. She’s not the type of person to break easily.” Jeremy scowled at her like a five year old that had just been reprimanded by someone barely his senior. She wondered if he was the type of person to stick his tongue out at her if he was pushed far enough and decided not to bother finding out.

“Then, my dear,” said Greer. “What would you suggest?”

Turning back to the monitor, Martine watched as Shaw lay still, eyes staring at the ceiling as she breathed heavily through her nose. The sedative was wearing off, but the pain from her bullet wounds would be kicking in now that they had stopped distributing pain meds. High pain threshold regardless, that gut shot was going to be more than a mild irritation.

“We find out what she cares about,” Martine said eventually. “And exploit it.”

~#~

He was more confident the third time going in, but Martine still didn’t trust him not to screw it up. Apart from someone delivering her some food once a day, Sameen Shaw had no visitors. Not even the camp’s medic was allowed to check on her healing wounds. Besides, Shaw was perfectly capable of doing that herself. Martine had caught her on the monitor, hunched over and prodding at her side to assess the damage and watched as she lay back, seemingly satisfied.

Jeremy had been in there for ten minutes and after a pathetic attempt at some small talk, he had leant back against the door staring at Shaw in silence. It was an interesting tactic and not one Martine herself would have chosen. She could tell already that it wasn’t working. Uncomfortable silences wouldn’t unnerve Sameen Shaw. If anything, they would unsettle Jeremy more, slip him up and give Shaw the opportunity to glean new information that she would no doubt file away for later.

“Speed it up, Lambert,” Martine complained.

“I was in the city yesterday,” Jeremy said absently. Martine wanted to smack her hand against her forehead. Now Shaw knew they weren’t in Manhattan and it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch for her to assume that they weren’t in any of the five boroughs either. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was still more information than Martine was comfortable with revealing. “Just by chance, I happened to run into a friend of yours.” Shaw stared at the ceiling stoically. “Ms. Groves… or, Root is what she prefers, isn’t it?”

Still Shaw said nothing. She was good, Martine would give her that, but she herself had witnessed countless interrogations, she could detect even the minutest of tells and Shaw was telling her so much. Her face remained neutral. It was the slight increase in her breathing that Martine noted, which told her everything she needed to know.

“Push the Groves thing,” Martine told Jeremy, her eyes never leaving Shaw’s face.

“Tell me,” said Jeremy; he was speaking casually, as if her answer either way didn’t bother him, “do you still hear her screaming?”

This time, Shaw moved. Just a slight tilt of her head, her eyes cold and hard as she stared at Jeremy.

 _Yes,_ it told Martine.

“That’ll do,” said Martine, closing her eyes.

She could still hear it too.

“How was that?” Jeremy asked when the door to Shaw’s cell was securely shut behind him. “I think I’m getting better at this interrogation lark.”

 _You’re a fool_ , Martine thought, shooting him a look of disdain. It didn’t seem to bother him and he strolled over to the chair at the desk beside her, rolling on its wheels until he was close enough to see the monitor Shaw was on. Martine did not appreciate the invasion of her personal space.

“You were right about her connection to Groves,” he said. “How did you know?”

“Do you know, _Jeremy_ ,” she said, filling her voice with as much scorn as possible, “the key to a good interrogation technique?”

“What’s that?” he said.

“ _Not_ giving away your entire hand at the start of it,” said Martine. “It’s a bit like a game of poker.”

“What? Bluffing your way through it?” he asked, smirking like he was proud of himself. He was more arrogant now that Greer wasn’t here and it made him careless. Yes, his interrogation had been informative, but it was more confirming what Martine had already guessed. In truth, Jeremy had revealed far more to Shaw than she had revealed to him.

And it was _that_ piece of knowledge that could spell the end for them.

“Leave her to stew for a few days,” said Martine. “And forget to feed her for two of them. I want her grouchy and irritable.”

“For what?” Jeremy asked, staring at her in confusion.

Martine stood up and smirked at him. “Why... for _my_ interrogation of course.”

~#~

Even though she thought it a little foolish, Martine had been pleased when Greer had given her access to the bunker. He had put her in charge of Shaw’s interrogation before heading back to the city to continue the search for Harold Finch and his friends and had been in contact every day to find out their progress.

He hadn’t been pleased about their lack of results.

Martine, however, was not in the least bit deterred by it. Interrogations were a slow process and it wasn't like they were on a short timescale. Samaritan was still bigger and stronger than the Machine. Their operatives outnumbered them by the thousands. At this point, Harold Finch and his friends were nothing more than a mild itch that wouldn't go away no matter how hard you scratched, the fly buzzing about your head that you couldn't quite catch. They were an inconvenience, yes, but one that did not worry Martine.

The door shut loudly behind Martine. Usually, it automatically locked itself, but Martine had by-passed the locking mechanism for this occasion. She wasn’t in the least bit surprised that Shaw sat up, noticing immediately. The mild disdain Shaw usually directed towards Jeremy was nothing compared to the look of loathing she shot Martine. It was amusing to her, more than anything, and she let the smirk dance across her face as she stepped towards Shaw, who immediately tensed upon Martine’s approach.

“Try anything,” Martine warned, “and it’ll be more than a taser at your side this time.” She waited for a beat, but Shaw seemed submissive. _Seemed_ being the key word. Martine didn’t buy it for a second. “Tie your wrists together,” she said, tossing a plastic zip-tie down onto Shaw’s lap. Shaw stared at her defiantly until Martine pulled her gun out, pointing it directly at Shaw’s head. “Chop-chop. We don’t have all day.”

Shaw did as she was told and when Martine was satisfied that she was secure, tightening the zip-tie so hard that the plastic was digging into Shaw’s flesh, she unlocked the handcuffs and cut the zip-tie still securing Shaw to the bed. Then she gestured for Shaw to move ahead of her. Shaw looked at her, suspicion written all over her face. Perhaps she thought Martine was about to lead her to her grave. It was enough incentive to try for a last desperate chance of escape.

“We’re going for a little walk,” Martine explained. “How long has it been since you stretched those legs of yours?” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t receive an answer, but Shaw walked ahead of her anyway, eyes scanning her surroundings. Martine had made sure to leave the monitors off. She didn’t want Shaw to get an idea of the scale and makeup of the camp.

Martine gripped onto her elbow with her free hand, leading Shaw out of the bunker and up the stairs. The medical hut itself was empty; Martine had ordered everyone to keep away. Again, she didn’t want Shaw to know the number of opponents she was up against.

Outside the Medical hut it was bitterly cold. More snow had fallen in the past few days, whitening the ground in a good five or six inches. Martine suppressed a shiver and thought that Shaw must be freezing wearing nothing but black pants and a thin black t-shirt. She wasn’t sure who had provided the clothes, but whoever it was hadn’t bothered to take the season into account.

The ground was uneven under her feet and she gripped Shaw’s elbow tighter mostly to keep herself upright than to stop Shaw from making a run for it. They walked past the barracks and through the woods to a small clearing some of the guards had made into a makeshift firing range. At the other end of the clearing, three old barrels stood with empty cans and beer bottles sitting on the top.

Martine took out her back-up piece and handed it over to Shaw. “You can shoot with your hands tied together, can’t you?”

Shaw glanced at the gun in her hand and then looked up at Martine as if she had gone mad. “What’s to stop me from shooting you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Martine with a smirk. “However…” she continued, turning to face the barrels and aiming her gun, “it would be rather pointless. The whole camp is surrounded by a ten foot electric fence and at the only gate, we have fifteen guards.  All of them armed. You won’t escape.”

“I’ve had worse odds,” said Shaw coolly.

Martine heard the click of the safety going off, the loudest gunshot she had ever heard and felt searing, white hot pain at her side.

By a few millimetres off, it was the exact same place where Martine had shot Shaw.

~#~

This wasn’t her first gunshot wound, not by far, but Martine had forgotten just how much they _hurt_. She opened her eyes groggily, finding Greer hovering at her bedside. At a glance, he didn’t look too pissed off, but she could never be sure when it came to the old man. He had odd moods and Martine tended to be wary just in case.

“Ah, my dear,” said Greer, “you’re awake.” Martine had a sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue but chose to keep it to herself. “Jeremy tells me you decided to take Ms. Shaw out for a little fun.”

“If you want to call it that,” said Martine, wincing as she sat up in bed. It was the first time she noticed that she was still in White Pine Camp. She supposed they had decent enough medical equipment that she hadn’t needed to be taken back to civilisation.

“What would you call it?” asked Greer his tone cold and anger edging at his eyes.

Yeah. He was pissed.

“Normal interrogation techniques aren’t going to work on someone like her,” Martine explained. “Jeremy was getting nowhere.”

“I suppose you may have a point,” said Greer.

“Did she get away?”

“No,” he said. “She incapacitated nine of the guards before one of them managed to tranq her. Enough to knock out a horse,” he added. Martine raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

“Incapacitated?” said Martine. “Not killed?”

“No,” said Greer. “They were put back on active duty whilst you were recovering.”

“Good,” said Martine, smiling. That was exactly what she had been expecting. Well… if she were being honest, she thought the little grump would have taken out more than nine, _but,_ she supposed, it had been the first exercise the woman had had in months. It was hardly surprising that she was a little sluggish.

“Good?” said Greer. “I fail to see how.”

“It tells us everything we need to know,” said Martine. Greer raised an eyebrow. “She won’t kill her way out of here.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t made her angry enough yet,” Greer suggested. Martine didn’t think so. Perhaps once, yes, Sameen Shaw would have killed her way out of here to escape, but not now. She had been tainted by Harold Finch, led to believe that she was one of the good guys. And _that_ would be her downfall. “No matter,” Greer continued. “But what this little venture of yours _did_ uncover was that Ms. Shaw has skills and resources that are going to waste down in that bunker.”

“What do you mean?” Martine asked, frowning in confusion.

“You, my dear,” Greer said, “are going to convert her to the cause.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was her punishment.

There was no other word to describe it. Converting Sameen Shaw to Samaritan’s side was an impossible task and Greer knew it.

It was a good thing Martine Rousseau was not the type of person to back down from a challenge. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve and once she was fully recovered from the gunshot wound at her side, she was determined to win Sameen Shaw over if it was the last thing she did.

Nobody had seen their prisoner - or guest as Jeremy so liked to refer to her as - since her attempted escape, and she was back down in the underground bunker, safe and secure. Her only visitor was the guard bringing her food once a day. Apart from a few scrapes and bruises, Shaw had been unharmed when they had finally caught her. The same couldn’t be said for Samaritan’s side and Martine, not often one to hold a grudge, was taking it personally anyway.

Greer had gone back to the city, but Jeremy was still hovering around, no doubt under orders to report back the first slip up she could possibly make. Martine wasn’t worried. He was like a perfectly well-behaved lap dog, all bark and no bite. He even followed her around like a dog and Martine couldn’t be sure if that was Greer’s doing or if Jeremy had just grown more than a little attached to her. It was an amusing thought and one that helped her get through the last bitter stages of winter.

Every day since being released from the medical ward, Martine had a visited Shaw. Sometimes she would ask questions, such as the location of the Machine or where her friends were hiding. Other times they sat in silence for hours, staring the other down. Shaw was good at giving nothing away, but Martine could be just as patient, never tipping her hand or allowing Shaw’s lack of cooperation to bother her. A lesser person would have caved by now. The solitude, the starvation, heck even the _cold_ would be enough to get most people talking if only for a moment’s respite. But not Sameen Shaw.

For someone like her, it wasn’t going to be her own wellbeing that would make her compliant. No… it was going to take a lot more than that.

On that first visit, with her stitches just out and her side still sore, Martine had entered Shaw’s cell with a smirk. Shaw didn’t look at all surprised to see her. “Your aim sucks,” Martine mocked, leaning casually against the door.

Shaw stared at her coldly. “I never miss.” She wasn’t bragging, merely stating a fact.

“Oh that’s right,” said Martine, scorn filling her voice, “I forgot. You’re one of the _good guys_.”

Maybe in that moment, Shaw had realised her mistake in letting her live, but Martine couldn’t be sure. Her mercy had come back to bite her in the ass. Both hers and Shaw’s.

Spring had just finished melting the last of the winter snow when Martine decided it was time to execute the next stage in her plan to convert Sameen Shaw to Samaritan’s side. She had kept the details close to her chest, knowing that neither Jeremy nor Greer would approve. Martine punched in the four digit code (changed every day, as per her orders) and pressed her thumb down on the scanner. As with every time she came down here, the door unlocked without a fuss. Within the small cell, Sameen Shaw sat hunched over on the cot, staring stonily ahead of her. Martine was earlier than usual and despite the lack of a watch or clock, Shaw’s eyes darted to her briefly, the only outward indication of her surprise at this break in schedule.

As with their last excursion, Martine told Shaw to bind her wrists together with a zip-tie before releasing her from the bed. This time, however, she threw a black hood over Shaw’s head before leading her out of the bunker. Martine couldn’t be sure how much of the camp Shaw had seen during her escape attempt, but Martine wasn’t about to give her their exact location.

Outside the medical hut, Jeremy had a van waiting. Martine shoved Shaw in the back and got in beside her. She had her gun out just in case. From the driver’s seat, Jeremy shot her a sceptical look and Martine glared at him until he turned the ignition on and began to drive.

It was a short twenty minute drive to the airport, but Martine had insisted beforehand that Jeremy take his time, circle the camp so that Shaw would think they were much further away from the airport than they actually were. A private jet was waiting for them; the airport’s pitiful excuse for security waved Jeremy right onto the terminal and he stopped the van at the bottom of the flight of steps attached to their jet. Martine dealt with Shaw, escorting her up the stairs and onto the plane, securing her in a seat. She decided to keep the hood on for now and Shaw was silent underneath it. She was the most compliant prisoner Martine had ever dealt with, but she knew it was all just for show. Shaw was plotting _something_ underneath that hood.

The flight itself was just over three hours. Martine didn’t bother to tell the pilot to circle before landing and she kept the hood on Shaw’s head until they had landed and Jeremy had requisitioned them another van. Again, he drove and Martine sat in the back with her gun out as she pulled the hood from Shaw’s head and tossed it aside.

“Where am I?” Shaw asked as soon as her hard eyes locked with Martine’s. Apparently she hadn’t appreciated the hood.

“Welcome to Havana, Ms. Shaw,” said Martine, eyes almost daring Shaw to try something. They were even, as far as Martine was concerned, since Shaw had shot her, but Martine still wouldn’t mind putting another bullet in her.

“Cuba?” Shaw frowned. “Why?”

“I want to show you something,” said Martine, glancing at Jeremy briefly before returning her gaze back to Shaw. “What’s our ATA?”

“Seven minutes,” said Jeremy.

“And the teams?” Martine asked.

“Already in position.”

 _Good,_ Martine thought. They were right on schedule.

She said nothing more to Shaw, just kept her eyes on her until they reached their destination. Jeremy parked the van in a secluded area, turning the engine off before climbing into the back of the van with them. He pulled out a laptop and typed in a few commands, positioning it so that Shaw could see the screen.

“Get out,” Martine ordered when he was done. He flashed her a look of surprise before quickly doing as he was told. “Take a look,” she said to Shaw, gesturing towards the laptop. Shaw glanced at it briefly, uncaring. For all intents and purposes, the image displayed looked fairly innocent; the interior of a large warehouse filled with crates stacked high. “Do you know what this place is?” Martine asked.

Shaw shrugged. “Am I supposed to?” she said sullenly.

“Cuba is the drug capital of the world,” Martine explained. “Well, at least it used to be. And that warehouse…let’s just say, if this is the capital, then that there is the White House.” Shaw said nothing, but Martine knew she was listening. “Five hundred tonnes of cocaine alone.” Martine paused, watching Shaw carefully. Outwardly, she was as stoic as ever, just as she had been during her entire incarceration. “It’s destination? Why...” said Martine, smiling brightly, “the good old US of A.”

“What’s your point?” said Shaw, sounding tired and bored.

Martine just smirked and pulled her radio out. “Teams, get ready to move on my mark,” she said into the mouthpiece. To Shaw, she added, “you might want to watch the screen for this.” Martine punched a command into the laptop; the image changed. It still showed the interior of the warehouse but now the point of view was different; one of Samaritan’s operatives, in charge of team Alpha. “Get ready to move in… three, two, one. Go.”

On the laptop screen, the image began to move as team Alpha made their way into the warehouse, through rows of crates, twisting and turning like a maze. Under normal circumstances, it would be a dangerous operation, sending a team in there. But this wasn’t normal circumstances. Samaritan was watching, guiding the teams where they needed to go, warning them of any threats. Martine watched as the Alpha team took out six of the drug dealers with ease, keeping one eye on Shaw out of the corner of her eye. Shaw, as usual, seemed indifferent to the whole thing, not even flinching when Samaritan’s operatives aimed for centre mass and hit their mark.

The operation took barely five minutes (six minutes and seventeen seconds, Samaritan reported) when the leader of team alpha reported back to Martine. “Warehouse secure, Ma’am.”

“Excellent,” said Martine into the radio. “Prepare the product for distribution.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied. Martine leaned over and switched of the laptop, the screen turning black. She could see Shaw’s reflection on the screen before she leaned back; keeping up with her uncaring attitude, but Martine knew she had to be curious about this little endeavour, wondering why she was here.

“Do you know how much money is spent on drugs in the US per year?” Martine asked. Shaw said nothing. “Samaritan estimates $100 billion. That’s a fairly large number,” Martine added, undeterred by Shaw’s unresponsiveness. “That’s about twenty million people. How many of those die from an accidental overdose due to drug impurities?” Shaw shrugged, but she looked at Martine, with curiosity in her eyes. “Well, let me put it this way,” she continued. “How many did _you_ lose in the ER?”

Shaw stiffened at that.

“Thirty-three,” Martine answered for her, smirking slightly. Had she just unnerved Sameen Shaw, of all people? “Samaritan can put a stop to that.”

“How?” said Shaw sceptically.

“By controlling the drug trade of course,” said Martine as if it were obvious. “Samaritan already has operatives, spies, working with known drug dealers all across the country. It controls the sale and distribution of them. Warehouses like this, in Mexico and Columbia have already been secured by Samaritan teams. In the last six months, that number of accidental overdoses has decreased.”

“And what,” said Shaw, “you think that makes Samaritan good?”

“Tell me,” said Martine, leaning forward slightly so that she could look Shaw properly in the eye. “How many drug dealers did you and your little team stop only for someone else to appear the next day and replace them?” Shaw kept silent, but her eyes were defiant as ever. “You can chip away but there were always be more drug dealers crawling out of the woodwork. This way, with Samaritan in control, we can _save_ lives.”

Shaw snorted. “If you believe that, then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

Martine smiled coldly and it wiped the smirk from Shaw’s face. “Oh, one of us is definitely stupid,” she said, leaning over to knock twice on the backdoor. A moment later it opened, revealing Jeremy on the other side. “Mission accomplished. Take us back.” Jeremy nodded, slamming the door shut and moving round to the driver’s side. “I’m going to need you to put the hood back on,” Martine said, picking it up off the floor and handing it to Shaw.

~#~

Sameen Shaw had been at White Pine Camp five months when Martine decided to start letting her out of her cell for good behaviour. Suitably guarded, of course. After all, Greer did say she had skills he didn’t want to go to waste. A little manual labour would do her some good. With the camp expanding due to its new use as a training facility, more and more of the cabins were being refurbished into living quarters. There was plenty of work to be done and Shaw had nothing better to do other than stare at concrete walls for hours on end every day.

As the days turned into weeks and then into months, Martine often wondered if Shaw had finally accepted her predicament. Her friends weren’t coming for her. Her chances of escape lessened with every new operative that arrived at the camp. Just by looking at her, she was still the same short-tempered former ISA-agent that she had been when she first arrived. Although, in those first days, she had been weakened by a gunshot wound, lack of exercise over the last few months had left her slow and sluggish. Martine watched her as she worked, tearing out old fittings from the cabins and piling them up outside, her escort hot on her heel. It wouldn’t be long before she was back to full strength and Shaw knew it too.

Martine was looking forward to her next attempt at escape. It was sure to be fun.

But, as what seemed to happen a lot these days, Shaw surprised her. There was no second escape attempt. No desperate dash through the woods to see if the story of the ten foot electric fence surrounding the place was a lie. Sameen Shaw was the perfect prisoner of war, compliant. Complacent, even. She was biding her time, Martine was sure. Shaw wasn’t about to give up that easily.

Just as winter had been harsh, the end of spring was a mixture of extremes. Unrelenting rain one day, only to be bright and sunny and exhaustingly hot the next. Martine could never predict it and neither could Samaritan, or it just chose not to bother informing her of that particular titbit of information.

Today was one of the former; rain pelting its way down to the ground, forming puddles big enough to compete with the nearby lake. Martine kept to the covered porch surrounding the large cabin that was being used for recreation and meals, shivering as the wind picked up, sending sprays of water at her torso. Her boots were caked in mud from her trek over from the barracks, hair sodding and matted to her head. At least she was over the worst of it now. She couldn’t say the same for Shaw and her guard outside cabin six.

The schedule for today had included chopping pieces of wood removed from the cabins over the last week. Old cabinets and other pieces of furniture. Although it was raining rather furiously, Martine saw no reason to change those plans now.

Shaw wasn’t permitted any tools, so she had to do it by hand. Martine watched in amusement as she struggled with a particularly large panel; using both her hands and her booted foot to snap it in half. Eventually it gave way and she let one of the pieces fall to the soaking ground before focusing on one half. It was pointless work and Shaw had to know it. Yet not once did she ever complain apart from to curse under her breath; language so foul that even some of the more experienced operatives blushed.

The camp itself worked like clockwork no matter the weather and Martine liked to keep to a strict schedule, a certain number of guards surrounding Shaw at all times. No deviations from this were tolerated. Martine wasn’t about to let Shaw have _any_ advantage. But as Martine was coming to both understand and expect, Sameen Shaw was unpredictable.

Martine watched with ever increasing amusement as Shaw further snapped the panel of wood into two. Now she had a piece that could be held comfortably in both hands, one end nice and pointy that, with enough force, could easily pierce flesh and muscle. Jacobson, Shaw’s morning guard, was a moron with a short attention span. He had gotten bored watching Shaw’s lumberjack routine and was now staring down at his feet as he dug a hole in the ground with the toe of his boot. In Martine’s opinion, it served him right what happened next.

It only took Shaw ten seconds to calculate, then she was sticking him with the pointy end, no doubt missing all the major arteries. Still one of the good guys, Martine thought with a sneer.

Jacobson fell to the ground, the piece of wood still lodged in his gut. Shaw bent over him, retrieving his gun. She had to know she wouldn’t have much time and she wasted none of it.

But Martine was quicker than her. She was just bitter that she had to go out in the rain again.

“I would put that down if I were you,” Martine said, pressing the muzzle of her gun into Shaw’s back. Shaw froze, raising her hands into the air and letting the gun hang loosely by the trigger around her index finger. Martine leaned closer and took it from her, half expecting Shaw to swiftly turn on her. Yet already the other guards tasked with watching Shaw from a distance were moving closer, guns raised and Shaw stayed still. “You know I’m going to have to punish you for this?”

“Yeah yeah,” said Shaw like she couldn’t wait to get this over with. The only other sound that came out of her mouth was a short grunt as Martine hit her over the back of the head with the butt of her gun.

~#~

The next day, Shaw was back to clearing out the cabins. A more difficult job now that her wrists were securely bound together with a zip-tie. Jacobson was recovering in the medical hut and a new, more competent, guard had been tasked with being Sameen Shaw’s shadow.

If Shaw was despondent over her failed attempt, she didn’t show it.

Once again, Martine kept watch from the porch. The torrential rain from the day before had turned into a light drizzle, but the ground was still drenched and it was a task in itself just manoeuvring from one cabin to the other, avoiding all the puddles.

“You know,” said a voice from behind her; Martine didn’t bother turning around, “every day Greer calls for an update and every day I tell him the situation is the same as it was yesterday. Although…” Jeremy Lambert came up beside her, leaning against the wooden railing with both hands. He looked out of place in his pristine suit and tie and she wondered who it was he was trying to impress. “Yesterday’s report was a little more exciting.”

Martine snorted humourlessly. “Jacobson’s a fool. Get him reassigned.”

“It’s not Jacobson’s reassignment you should be worried about,” Jeremy said. Martine looked at him sharply. They weren’t talking about reassignment in the usual sense of the word. Not anymore. “This is taking too long.”

Inhaling deeply before she spoke, Martine wondered if she wasn’t, in fact, _surrounded_ by fools. “How long did he really expect it to take?” she asked. “Shaw’s not like the rest of them. She won’t be bought over.”

“Perhaps,” said Jeremy slowly. “But if she can’t be bought over… we need _something._ ” He had a point of sorts. They had gleaned absolutely nothing from Shaw since capturing her and were nowhere near closer to finding her friends. “This,” he gestured at the cabin Shaw was working in, “isn’t working.”

“It is,” Martine said with confidence. “I know what I’m doing. I just need more-”

Jeremy laughed. “You don’t have more time, love.” Martine bristled at the familiarity. “You have one more week. If you get nothing from her… then I’ve been ordered to put a bullet in both of you.”

~#~

The dining hall was always empty when Shaw had her meals. Martine slipped into the seat opposite her and slid the lunch tray out of her reach.

“Do you mind?” Shaw said darkly with narrowed eyes. “I was eating that.”

“Eat this instead.” Martine pushed a white Styrofoam tub towards Shaw and leaned back in her seat, smile twitching her lips in amusement. Shaw scowled at her before lifting the lid with bound together hands. The smell of freshly cooked steak filled the room. “Eat up,” said Martine. “ _Before_ it gets cold.”

“How can I be sure you haven’t poisoned it?” Shaw asked sullenly.

Martine rolled her eyes. Pulling out her combat knife, she leaned forward to cut away a small slither of the red meat before popping it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, eyes watching Shaw carefully. The other woman was practically drooling, staring longingly at the food, cooked just how she liked it. Medium rare, plenty of seasoning. It had been a while since anyone had bothered to give Shaw a decent meal.

“If I wanted you dead,” said Martine casually as she leant back in her chair, “poison is so not the way I would do it. Guns are so much more efficient.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Shaw, looking as if she had finally decided something. She picked up the steak with her fingers and tore into eat with her teeth.

Sameen Shaw ate like an animal, but she never wasted a single bite. Martine watched her eat her meal with a mixture of fascination and disgust and scowled when she licked her fingers clean when she was finished.

“I trust that was to your satisfaction?” said Martine.

Shaw shrugged, resting her now clean hands on the table top. “You want to tell me what the occasion is?” Nothing got past Sameen Shaw, it would seem.

Martine smiled. “No occasion. You just need to keep your strength up. We’re going on a little trip.”

~#~

Martine hadn’t bothered inviting Jeremy this time. She drove herself, Shaw in the passenger seat with the hood over her head and her wrists still bound. She didn't bother with circling the camp to fool Shaw about the location; it was already a long enough drive back to New York City. By the time Martine drove over the George Washington bridge, after stopping for gas on route, she was tired and in desperate need of stretching her legs. Shaw was probably the same, but she would just have to suffer for the time being.

Darkness had fallen by the time they had reached their destination and Martine parked the car, killing the engine. Just by looking out of the front windshield she could spot three security cameras. Samaritan was watching her. It always was.

No doubt Greer had been informed of her location. Perhaps he had sent a team of operatives to meet her here, to put a bullet in both their heads. Jeremy would be so disappointed.

Or… maybe he would wait to see what she would do. Greer had handpicked her himself and she had never failed him in all of her time working for Samaritan. If there was ever a time to trust her instincts, perhaps now was it.

“Welcome home,” said Martine, pulling the hood from Shaw’s head and receiving a glare in return. “Well, almost,” she added. Shaw’s old apartment was on the other side of town. Martine had ransacked it herself. One of her first missions for Samaritan after it fully came online. She hadn’t found much of interest. A sparse wardrobe of various black garments, plenty of guns in the fridge… there was one thing, however, that had piqued Martine’s interest. An object that had seemed out of place to Martine at the time. By that point, Martine had already memorised Shaw’s file and there had been nothing in their to indicate where it had come from or why Shaw had it.

So Martine had done a little digging into everything they knew about Sameen Shaw, about Harold Finch and the rest of them. She looked into everything Samaritan knew about the numbers they had saved, the perps they had kneecapped and put away and slowly, bit by bit, Martine had put the pieces together.

“We here to watch Samaritan take out some drug dealers again?” Shaw said disdainfully.

Martine smirked. “Nothing so tame. Look over there,” she said, nodding towards a large building to the left of their vehicle. Shaw stared at her sullenly for a moment, clearly not liking being told what to do, before she glanced briefly out of the window.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Catherine McAuley school for girls,” said Martine, not surprised when Shaw continued to stare at her blankly. “Ten months ago,” Martine continued, knowing she had Shaw’s undivided attention, “a student transferred in from a school up state. Bit of a sad case. Orphan, no friends or family to speak of. But the curious thing…” Here Martine paused and pulled the object she had found in Sameen Shaw’s apartment out of her pocket. “Her tuition was paid in full right up until her senior year. Anonymous benefactor. Now I wonder who that could have possibly been.”

Even in the dark, Martine could see Shaw swallowing thickly, already putting two and two together and getting an answer she did not want. _Well tough_ , Martine thought and placed the object, cool at first but now warm from her body heat, into Shaw’s hand.

“Even with a change in name, Samaritan found her,” said Martine, watching as Shaw’s eyes darted down to the Order of Lenin in her hands. “That’s the thing about teenagers and social networks… You’d think someone with ambitions to become a spy would be more careful.”

“Shut up,” said Shaw, low and deadly. Martine ignored her.

“It was so easy finding her, despite being hidden away, out of sight,” Martine continued. “And it’s only a matter of time before we find your friends too.”

“If you-”

“If I what?” said Martine, smiling widely now. “There’s nothing you can do. Nothing your friends can do. Samaritan’s operatives are watching close. If any one of them step within a three mile radius of this place,  we’ll have them.”

“What do you want?” Shaw asked, her voice like steel. It might have cut through a normal person, but not Martine Rousseau.

“It’s not about what I want,” said Martine. “It’s about what _you_ want.” Shaw looked away, up at the school building, eyes scanning hard as if she could see through the brick and mortar. “You want to protect your friends; the people you care about.”

When Shaw looked at her sharply, Martine knew she had already won. Shaw had been willing to give up her life to save her friends at the stock exchange. She was the protector, a hero. It’s what she did. What she had always done. Through every career choice Sameen Shaw had ever made, it was always to protect or save _something._ And now there were a select few whom she actually cared for, whose deaths Shaw would avenge without mercy if it came to it.

“You can’t protect them from a prison cell,” Martine continued.

“And working for Samaritan is going to help me protect them?” Shaw said bitterly, clutching the Order of Lenin tightly in her hands.

“You’ve seen what Samaritan can do,” said Martine. “It’s far bigger and stronger, far more resourceful, than your Machine will ever be. You’re on the losing side, Shaw; but if you join us, then just maybe, you might be able to save the people you care about at the end of this war.”

This was everything Martine had; her final shot in the dark to save both their lives. She thought about informing Shaw of Greer’s kill order, but knew that she would rather take that bullet than the alternative. So Martine wasn’t going to give her the option. She just had to wait, and hope, that this wouldn’t be the end of her.

“The search for Finch and the others…” Shaw said, staring out of the window. Her knuckles had gone white from gripping the medal so hard.

“Your friends are nothing more than a mild inconvenience to Samaritan. If they stay out of the way, then no harm will come to them.”

“No harm will come to them,” Shaw repeated. “I need that guarantee.”

“I can’t promise you they will remain unharmed,” said Martine callously, “but they have been ordered to be brought in alive.” It was a lie, but Shaw didn’t need to know that. It was the icing on the cake that Shaw needed to say yes and despite the fact that Martine was providing this offer, this _guarantee_ , without Greer’s or Samaritan’s permission, she knew it was the only way to get Shaw on their side, no matter how tenuous.

“Fine,” Shaw ground out, like it was the hardest word she had ever had to say. “But I have some ground rules.”

Martine smirked and turned the key in the ignition. It looked like she wouldn’t be taking that bullet after all. “Those you’ll have to take up with Samaritan, I’m afraid.”


End file.
